Hysteria Read online

  Ada leapt up, stumbling over her own feet in her hurry to grab Kenna’s hand. The group couldn’t help but laugh at the little girl’s enthusiasm. “Well, come on, then,” she said, pulling Kenna and Bash toward the door. “I love horses.”

  “I’ll come and find you later,” Mary called to Kenna as they left. She turned her attention to Alys. “I’m so sorry about your parents,” she said. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

  Alys sniffed, the same blue eyes as her sister’s filling with tears. “Ada said it had happened,” she said in her gentle voice. “But I didn’t believe her. I didn’t want to.”

  “I met them yesterday.” Mary took hold of the girl’s hand and held it gently. “They loved you very much. They would be very happy to know that you are safe and well today.”

  “But it’s my fault,” Alys replied. “If they had let Monsieur Duquesne burn me at the stake, they would still be alive. All of this is because of me.”

  “All of this is because of the men who accused you of something you did not do,” Mary said. “Do not blame yourself, Alys. We will find out who caused this but please don’t spend another second upsetting yourself.”

  Nodding slowly, Alys traced circles on the stone floor with her toes. “What if, when he’s done his investigation, the king decides I am a witch?” she asked. “What if he decides I did hurt those people?”

  Mary sat back, startled. “The king is very wise and he will discover the truth,” she said, choosing her words carefully, suddenly aware that they were alone in the room. “You didn’t hurt those people, did you, Alys?”

  She turned her blue eyes toward the queen, her bottom lip quivering. “Monsieur Duquesne says I did,” she said in a whisper. “But I didn’t. He says I failed his tests but they weren’t fair. I’m not a witch.”

  “What were the tests?” Mary asked, hardly daring to hear the answer.

  Alys rolled up her sleeve to show several round marks on her forearm. “This was from the pricking test,” she explained. “They said a witch wouldn’t feel pain but it did hurt. When I cried out, the priest said I was pretending. Then they asked me to read scripture but I can’t read that well, only the labels on the bottles in the apothecary and bits of Guillaume’s notebooks. And then they made me touch one of the women who lost her baby and she said she felt the evil in me, that I had possessed her. I didn’t understand. After that, they locked me in the stable. I’m not sure how long I was there.”

  “Oh, Alys.” Mary pulled the girl’s sleeve back down to cover the scars, trying not to cry. She had to remain strong; she was a queen and it was her duty. “You’ve been so brave. I know how hard it is to be locked away, to be afraid for your life, but the king will find out the truth and the men who did this to you and your family will pay.”

  As Alys buried her head in her shoulder and sobbed, Mary stared out the window and hoped that Francis wouldn’t let her down.

  In her private chambers, Catherine locked and bolted the door before pulling a heavy wooden chest out of a locked trunk. Setting the chest carefully on her dressing table, she searched her bookshelves for a specific book, turning the pages until she found a small silver key. Taking a deep breath, she slipped it into the locked chest and opened it up to reveal a collection of colored glass bottles and vials. With her fingertips, she took out one of the bottles, a deep cerulean-blue glass with powdered herbs inside and a brown paper label attached to the neck. On that label, in Catherine’s own flowery handwriting, was one single word.

  Auxerre.

  Holding the bottle up to the light, she breathed in deeply and then let out a dissatisfied sigh. Replacing the bottle, Catherine locked up the trunk and stared at her bookcase, hands on her hips.

  “This is no good at all,” she said, a frown on her handsome face. “But what to do?”

  Running her fingers along the spines of the books, she pulled out a second volume, and a small linen bag tied with ribbon fell into her hand. Quickly she emptied its contents—a handful of dried herbs—into a wineglass filled with water and watched as it frothed up and then died down again, looking like nothing more than a normal glass of water. Pinching her lips together and unlocking her chamber door, she rang a bell, summoning one of her lady’s maids.

  “Good, it’s you,” she said as a tall, dark-haired girl appeared.

  The maid curtsied deeply, her fear of her mistress written all over her face. “What can I do for you, Your Grace?”

  “See that this finds its way down to the cells and to the cook who attacked the girls Bash brought here last night,” Catherine instructed. “And see that no one knows it came from you or me, otherwise you’ll be spending some time in the cells yourself.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” The girl took the water and curtsied again, keen to find herself in Catherine’s good graces. “At once.”

  “Let me know when it’s been delivered,” Catherine added, settling in a chair by the window and watching as Bash, Kenna, and a little blond girl hurtled around on the lawns below. “Its effects should take hold fairly quickly.”

  “Effects?” the girl asked.

  “My dear.” Catherine turned to look at her new maid with disappointment. “If I have to tell you that, you’re really not cut out for this position.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” the girl said again. “At once, Your Grace.”

  “And be careful with it,” Catherine called as the girl shut the door behind her. “I don’t want to have to replace you already.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lola’s cottage always felt like a sanctuary. Even though it was only moments away from the castle, every time Mary walked through the door she felt as though she were in another world, another life. Everything looked comfortable and inviting, as if no harm could come to anyone inside. She smiled at her godson, gently tracing his chubby cheek with her finger. His hair was coming through, she noticed, blond, like Francis’s. He had the look of a true Valois.

  “He loves when you come to visit. Look at him smiling,” Lola said, handing Mary a hot drink. “I was able to get some Venetian coffee; it’s quite good.”

  “He’s getting so big,” she replied, taking the drink gratefully. “Is he sleeping well?”

  “The nannies say he is.” Lola sat opposite her queen, yawning on cue. “But not as much as I would like. He won’t go to anyone else in the night, not even Francis.”

  “Of course, Francis isn’t here in the night.” Mary laughed uncomfortably but Lola said nothing, making her heart jump. “Is he, Lola?”

  “No, of course not,” Lola said. “Not in the night. He has visited in the evening, after Robert is supposed to be asleep. He’s very good at putting him down when I can’t.”

  Mary nodded, pulling her lips together tightly, and both girls looked away, an awkward silence descending on the room. The issue of baby Robert’s paternity would always come between them, however much they wished otherwise.

  “How are you?” Lola reached for her friend’s hand. “You look wonderful—is that a new gown?”

  Mary looked down at her dress and blinked. “Oh, I think it is,” she said. “I hardly remember dressing this morning.”

  “What’s troubling you?” Lola asked. “You look worried.”

  “You always knew when something was wrong.” Mary smiled. “There’s no point telling you it’s nothing, is there?”

  “If it was nothing, you wouldn’t have come to me,” her friend replied kindly.

  Mary smoothed out her skirt, trying to work out how to explain the situation. “Francis and I are at odds over how to treat a prisoner,” she said finally, hesitating on the last word. “I believe she’s innocent and he doesn’t know what to believe. I don’t want another official matter to come between us, but I can’t ignore this. I’m so confused.”

  “The prisoner is a woman?” Lola looked surprised. It wasn’t the first time Mary and Francis had found themselves on opposing sides of an argument, but those discussions usually involve
d matters of state or war or, more often than not, Francis’s mother.

  “A young girl,” Mary said. “A young girl accused of witchcraft. I sent Bash to investigate the claims made against her and he brought her back to the castle when she was attacked.”

  Lola’s eyes widened as she took in the information. “And the claims are baseless?” she asked. “She isn’t a witch?”

  “Lola,” Mary chided. “I’m quite certain she is nothing more than an apprentice healer. I’ve spoken with her; she is gentle and kind and has lost everything because of this. But still Francis isn’t convinced and now Catherine is involved. I’m worried she may take up against the girl simply because I have taken up her cause.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Lola admitted. “But have you looked at the case from Francis’s perspective?”

  Mary took a deep drink of her coffee. “How do you mean?”

  “I just want to make sure you’re not too close to the situation,” she said slowly. “I’ve no doubt you’re quite right and of course you would fight for a young girl who is being persecuted. That’s why Francis loves you. But he has to consider a bigger picture, whether he likes it or not. You know being the king means making decisions you don’t always agree with, and if he’s conflicted, arguing with you won’t help matters.”

  Her hands warmed by her cup, Mary tried not to dwell on the passing thought that sometimes Lola understood her husband better than she did.

  “If the evidence against this girl forces him into a corner, he mightn’t have a choice as to his actions,” Lola said as the baby began to stir in his cradle. “It’s likely weighing on him as much as it is on you. Things never go well when the two of you are adversaries.”

  “When did you become so wise?” Mary asked with a forced smile. “What a lucky boy Robert is, to have a mother like you.”

  “And a godmother like you,” Lola said, reaching into the cradle to pick up the fussing baby. “You and Francis are strongest when you try to understand each other. If he’s struggling with this, your support will help make things clearer. You should go and find him.”

  Mary reached out to take Robert’s hand, his little fingers curling around hers and squeezing tightly. “I think Francis is the lucky one,” Mary said, her need for a baby of her own drowning out every other thought in her head. “To have a family like this.”

  “And we are,” Lola reminded her. “Family.”

  “Always,” Mary agreed.

  “Francis!” Mary ran around the lake to catch up with the king.

  Even as the servants and nobles alike turned to stare at her unseemly behavior, Mary could only smile. Spending time with Lola and the baby had cleared her head. All she wanted to do was let Francis know he had her support.

  “Mary.” Francis opened his arms to catch her as she tumbled toward him, her hair coming loose from its braids as she threw her arms around his neck. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so free with him but he was almost certain it was before she had lost the baby. “Everyone is staring at us.”

  “Let them stare,” she said, pressing her lips against his in a deep kiss. “Let them see how much their queen loves their king.”

  “I hardly dare ask what I’ve done to deserve this,” he said, his eyes shining, the warmth of Mary’s body pressed against him. “Lest you decide to stop.”

  Mary laughed, pulling away and slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow. The royal show of affection over, everyone went back to their business and the couple walked on. “I haven’t been fair,” she said. “About Alys. You’re in a difficult position that I put you in and I haven’t given you the support you deserve. I want you to know I’m not against you on this, Francis, I only want to see that justice is done and innocent lives are not sacrificed for political power.”

  “She wouldn’t be the first,” Francis reminded her but Mary said nothing, just stared ahead. “I’m having a difficult time finding out anything of Auxerre. So far, all I’ve been able to discover is that the Févriers and the Duquesnes are old families, neither titled but both with land. Somewhere along the line, the Duquesnes lost their fortune but retained control of the village council, but there’s no reported ill will between them. One man even told me that Duquesne’s son, Antoine, and Jehane Février were friends as children, before Antoine died of the plague.”

  “And what of Alys’s master, the healer?” Mary asked. “Has anyone come forward about his work?”

  “Practically a saint, by all accounts,” Francis replied. “Everyone we’ve spoken to has had nothing but praise for him. A devout Catholic by all accounts, nothing even vaguely heretical in his past.”

  “It’s all so strange,” Mary said, looking up as they passed the herb gardens. A little way inside, she saw Alys and Ada sitting quietly together. Her heart leapt into her throat for a moment; shouldn’t they be in their chamber, where they could be safe? But she soon saw they were not alone. Two members of the king’s guards stood close by, watching over the girls like hawks. “There must be another answer. Spoiled food, perhaps? Or something in the water supply at the village?”

  “Something that affects only certain people and not others?” Francis asked.

  Mary shrugged, still unnerved by the sight of the girls wandering the palace grounds. “Stranger things have happened. Stranger things have happened to us.”

  She stopped outside the entrance to the herb garden and nodded toward the girls. “Why don’t you come and talk to her,” she suggested. “Would that help?”

  Francis released his wife’s arm before kissing her hand. “It wouldn’t,” he said. “A king’s job is to be impartial. Until I have all the facts, I think I should keep my distance.”

  Mary squinted against the sunshine, considering his position.

  “I’m assuming it would be useless to advise you to do the same?” he asked.

  “I fear it’s a little late,” Mary replied, turning back to the girls in the garden. “But I do understand and I’m not angry with you. I’m sorry for before.”

  “We won’t always see eye to eye on everything.” Francis leaned down to pick a pink rose and tucked it into her hair. “And sometimes I will have to make decisions neither of us agrees with, for the good of the country. Hopefully this won’t be one of them.”

  “Hopefully,” Mary echoed. She pulled out the flower and inhaled its sweet fragrance as he left, wondering how things would be if she and Francis were just a boy and a girl in love.

  “Mary!” Ada spotted the queen first, jumping up and down while Alys tried to bundle her arms by her side.

  “That isn’t how we address the queen,” Alys hissed, curtsying as low as she could as Mary approached. “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

  “Really, Alys, it’s fine,” Mary said, a smile creeping onto her face in spite of Francis’s warnings. “You needn’t be so formal when it’s just us.”

  But it wasn’t just them. Mary looked up to see two guards, not even six feet away.

  “Who assigned you to protect the girls?” Mary asked.

  The two men looked at each other. Both were fully armed.

  “The queen mother, Your Grace,” the first said. “Only protection wasn’t quite her instruction.”

  Mary traded her gentle kindness for the true face of the queen, a steely resolve that immediately made both men take a small step backward. “Until I say otherwise, they are under my protection,” she commanded, and both men bowed their heads. “Catherine has no business here. You will remain with the girls as their personal guards. No harm shall come to them or you shall answer to me, do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” they said in unison.

  “Good.” Mary’s smile returned as she knelt down beside the girls. “Now, what are you two up to?”

  “Alys is teaching me the names of the plants,” Ada said, a sour look on her face. “I would rather play hide-and-seek.”

  “But knowing the names of plants is important,” Mary sai
d, picking a sprig of thyme and handing it to the younger girl. “If you don’t know what they’re called, how would you know what to ask for?”

  “Plants are boring,” Ada replied. “They’re not even as pretty as flowers.”

  “Why don’t you go and pick me some flowers?” Mary pointed out a patch of rosebushes behind the guards. “But mind the thorns.”

  “She won’t listen,” Alys said, tucking her long blond hair behind her ears. “She never does. She’s such a pain.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Mary said, leaning her face back toward the sun. “She seems very sweet.”

  Alys plucked leaves of thyme one by one, creating a little pile in front of her. “You wouldn’t say that if you had to share a room with her.”

  Mary laughed in agreement. “I like having children around,” she said. “It makes the castle feel more like a home.”

  “Are you going to have a baby?” Alys asked. Mary’s face fell and the girl blushed a deep crimson. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m so sorry, Your Grace.”

  “It’s quite all right,” Mary said, recovering herself as quickly as she could. “I would like to have a baby, very much so.”

  “Guillaume showed me how to make a tea that might help,” Alys said, counting out twelve leaves of thyme and slipping them in her pocket. “It’s very simple.”

  Mary hesitated before answering. She had heard so many old wives’ tales before—pomegranate tarts, sleeping with her legs against the wall—and she wasn’t proud to say she had tried most of them. Nothing had worked, not even the herbs and poultices Catherine had given her. But this girl, she had studied under a healer whom many called a saint.

  “The thyme makes a tea that takes away a stomachache,” Alys went on. “But if you had some dandelion root, some lemon balm, and oat straw, I could brew something for you.”

  “That’s very kind,” Mary said. “Thank you.”